Stray Dog
by theyellowumbrella
Summary: Angsty Joey one shot, post-finale. The title is rubbish but I have no idea what else to call it. I took it from the impression that Joey was like a stray dog. Rated T for very minor things.


**Happy new year! Sorry for the lack of updates, but I'm thinking of making a new updating schedule, starting either this or next week. I'll update _The One With the Kid _on either Fridays or Saturdays and _Maybe Someday _on the other day, because I'll have more free time at the weekends, what with school and exams. Anyway, I present to you a one shot that I wrote maybe five or six months ago, post-finale. It's quite angsty, I suppose, and very Joey-centric. One of the few pieces of work I've ever written that I still like over time.**

The snow was pounding down hard in Manhattan; families rushing to be together that Christmas. Taxis were stuck on the roads, fathers talking to their children down the phone, soothing them. And then there was Joey Tribbiani. Sitting alone in his apartment with a carton of eggnog and an old Baywatch video in the VCR, playing yet another episode.

He wasn't paying attention to the screen where Pamela Anderson was running across the beach in her red bathing suit, breasts bouncing in front of her. Any other day he'd be lusting over her, but things hadn't been the same for a while. He'd replay the videos several times a week in hope of things getting easier, for at least a small erection to arise at the sight of these beautiful woman on his screen, yet it had never happened.

He avoided rememering why he was like this. He avoided thinking of her; the way her lips curved into a smile when she was happy, the way her laugh echoed in his ears for hours, the way she blushed whenever something sweet was said. Normally, he'd down several beers each night, trying to get the image that was engrained in his mind to go away. It was her face when she told him they were back together. Her beaming smile as she clutched onto Emma, not seeing the pain in his eyes.

He'd smiled weakly back at her and acted happy. He pretended he was okay with the decision of never talking about what had happened with them; yet he wasn't. Each night he'd dream and dream about them; together. He put on a brave smile for them all and pretened he was fine, just as Ross had did when they had gotten together, except he kept himself together a little bit more.

His eyes were glued to the window, where if he stood at an angle and squinted, he could see into their living room. He could see 18-month-old Emma running around, a smile on her face as she eagerly grasped the presents that were piling up in front of the Christmas tree. The best part of this was that no matter how much they squinted, try as they might, nobody could ever see into his apartment.

He ignored all of his friends' calls and knocks at the door, he ignored it when Chandler banged on the door loudly. He ignored the consistent string of text messages from Phoebe begging for him to leave the apartment and go and talk to her, or grab a cup of coffee, because he knew if he didn't, he would break down. He'd cry and that doesn't fit with his image. The news would be spread across the group until it finally got to her. She'd attemp to unlock his apartment door with her old key, even though he'd changed the lock weeks ago to prevent that happening. She'd try and console him, even though she wouldn't understand. So he stuck to Baywatch and beer.

Every morning, he awoke with her on his mind. He would always smile, half expecting to roll over and see her sleeping peacefully beside him. He always hated seeing the spot beside him vacant. There hadn't been a girl there since Monica had gotten the door open somehow at the start. There had been no slutty redhead lying next to him in bed with no clothes on, no dumb blonde giggling about the previous nights antics.

He knew why, he knew exactly why. The real reason was in the back of his brain, trying to push through and it was eating him away inside. He knew he'd have to eventually admit it; not only to the world, but to himself, as well. The truth. Not some crappy lie he'd come up with to try and convince himself, not even a really good lie that was almost believable. The truth.

Joey Tribbiani was in love with Rachel Green and he wasn't getting over it.


End file.
